


My Reference Desk or Yours?

by Nikaia



Series: Dewey Belong Together? [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, Fluff and Humor, librarian!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28786878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikaia/pseuds/Nikaia
Summary: If you're looking for 2000+ words of Jason Todd loving books, and awkwardly flirting with you, this is the story for you. Prepare for lots of book references that I definitely didn't spend more time researching for than actually writing this fic. The only plot to this story is that we are all thirsty for literature loving Jason Todd, because really, who isn't?Now with a part 2!
Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader
Series: Dewey Belong Together? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139432
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	1. To The Lighthouse- Virginia Woolf

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but I'm a simp for Jason Todd and have no self control or shame.  
> Thank you for reading!

He’s back.  
He’s the talk of the entire library staff, with rumors about his razor sharp jawline and mysterious blue-green eyes getting passed around shelving carts and coffee pots. He comes in every Saturday morning with a fresh coffee from the shop in the lobby, finds a book, and sits in a chair on the second floor tucked away with the mystery novels. 

You’ve never checked out books for him, so you haven’t been able to sneak a peek at his library card to learn his name, and he always seems to come in knowing exactly what he wants, so he’s never stopped by your post at the reference desk. 

You saw him climb the stairs to the second floor a few minutes ago, and so you turn your chair to the pile of old books that need to be removed from the catalog, which also happens to conveniently face the mystery section of the second floor. Stamping the books is an easy task, but you’re distracted enough by sneaking glances at the handsome stranger’s corner that you get ink on your fingertips, staining them red. You reach for a wipe in your desk drawer with a sigh, mentally chiding yourself for not paying attention, when the sound of a clearing throat grabs your attention. 

It’s him.

He’s holding the coffee cup in one hand, impossibly broad shoulders covered in a sleek leather jacket and red rimmed glasses balanced over cheekbones you’re sure could cut glass. You note absentmindedly, that he has a streak of white in his dark hair that falls charmingly over his brow. He clears his throat again and you blush, busying yourself with cleaning the ink off your fingers. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid it’s still early for me,” you joke, and oh his eyes are the most beautiful shade of turquoise you’ve ever seen. “How can I help you today?” 

You’re almost distracted again by the tease of a dimple and the way his mouth slants crookedly into an awkward yet endearing smile. “Sorry to bother you. I was looking for a copy of To The Lighthouse, do you know if it’s here?” he asks, his free hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. 

You don’t recognize the title, so you open up the catalog on your computer and run a search. “It looks like it’s here,” you say, leaning a bit closer to your monitor as you scribble down its location on a sticky note. “I can get it for you if you’d like?” 

“Only if you don’t mind me coming along, so I know where it is for next time,” he says, and it almost looks like he’s blushing, but you quickly brush the thought away. 

“Oh, that’s no trouble at all,” you say, slipping off your chair and putting out the sign that tells patrons you’ll be back in 5 minutes. “Right this way,” you say, setting off for the location. It takes a moment to get to, tucked up on the third floor in the literature and rhetoric corner. You run your fingers over spines, counting call numbers under your breath until you find it. It’s an old looking book, the corners rounded and the cover faded by years of readers. You turn to give it to him, and you’re surprised when he’s standing closer than you expected. The movement seems to startle both of you, and he quickly takes a step back, and you’re sure you’re not imagining the blush on his cheeks this time. You tentatively offer the book to him, and you can feel your cheeks start to heat as his fingers brush yours when he takes the book from your hands. You clear your throat and sidestep out of the aisle, tucking your fingers into the pockets of your sweater to hide their trembling. “I’ve never read that one,” you say, nodding to the book in his hands. “I’d love to hear about it when you’ve finished it, if you’ve got the time. I’m here every Saturday,” you tell him, before you turn and start the walk back to your desk, your steps a bit quicker than normal as you try to flee the heat of the blush creeping all the way up to your ears.


	2. She Walks in Beauty- Lord Byron

It’s Saturday again.

You haven’t seen the handsome stranger in a week since you practically ran away from him on the third floor, a situation that’s been on replay in the back of your head ever since. Today you’re keeping your hands busy with assembling booklets for a children’s program that’s scheduled for next week. It’s easy work, and you find yourself getting into a rhythm with your stapler, so you start swaying and humming along to the jazzy tune playing softly from the overhead speakers. You almost miss the handsome stranger approach your desk, but then again he’s hard to miss, the soft grey cardigan he’s wearing only accentuating the shape of his arms. You set the stapler down and smooth the hastily rolled up cuffs of your sweater. “Good morning,” you greet him with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”

He returns your smile almost shyly. “I finished the book from last week,” he says, shifting his feet. “Still want to hear about it?” he asks, meeting your eyes with his devastatingly blue ones. 

You gesture to one of the tall chairs that sits on the outside of your desk. “Yes, I’d love to,” you say, taking a seat in your own chair. He begins to describe the book to you, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the detail he goes into and the dry wit of his commentary. He goes on several tangents about his theories about the symbolism in the book, the character’s motivations, and the writing styles the author used. You know you should be paying attention, but you’re distracted by the way his hands move as he talks, and the way his face lights up as he’s talking. You thought he couldn’t get any more attractive, and boy, you were wrong. 

He seems to pick up on your distraction, and he stutters a bit mid-thought, and you both look away for a moment. You can feel the blush starting to creep up from your collarbones, and you will your skin to cool down. “Sorry, I can get kind of carried away,” he apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Don’t apologize,” you reassure him. “I wish my professors could explain books like you can.” 

“Oh, are you a student at Gotham U?” he asks before taking a sip of his probably cold coffee.   
“I’m in the graduate literature program,” you answer. “I’m stuck in poetry classes this semester and poetry just doesn’t make sense to me.” 

His eyes seem to light up for a moment. “What poets are you reading?” he asks, sitting up straighter. 

“We’re going over classic poets. We’re on Lord Byron this week, I think,” you say, pulling out your phone to check your schedule. 

“If you’d like, we could talk poetry next time. I’ll see if I can work my magic,” he offers almost shyly. 

“I’d like that,” you say. You write down your number on another neon sticky note and offer it to him. “I have to finish these and get them down to the children’s department, but I’d love to hear your thoughts on Byron’s poems later?”

He takes the note from you and smiles. “Until later then,” he says, giving you another smile before he stands up from the chair and heads toward the stairs. 

It takes you until you’re almost done with the booklets to realize you still don’t know his name.


	3. The Secret Garden- Frances Hodgson Burnett

He texts you later that day, and even though he tells you his name is Jason, you save his number in your phone under ‘hot book nerd’. He apologizes and says that he has to work that night, and asks if you’d want to meet for lunch tomorrow. You agree to a time and place, and you spend the rest of your day trying to distract yourself from preparing for tomorrow. 

Eventually, the appointed time rolls around, and you give yourself plenty of time to get ready. A long bath and several different outfits later, you find your way to the cafe you two had agreed on yesterday. It’s a small, quiet place off the main roads, and you find your date waiting for you at a small table tucked in the corner of the shop. He waves to you, and as you approach the table he scrambles out of his chair to pull out a chair for you. 

“Thank you, but you know you don’t have to do that,” you say as you sit down and pick up the menu. 

He laughs. “Alfred would kill me if I wasn’t on my best behavior in front of a smart and beautiful woman like you,” he says, his mouth quirking into a wry smile. 

You blush. “Who’s Alfred?” you ask, worrying the corner of the menu in your hands.

“He practically raised me,” Jason said, a fond smile on his face. “He taught me almost everything I know about books and literature. Speaking of,” he reaches around his chair to fish a battered notebook out of a bag slung behind him. “I brought notes on Byron,” he says, an impish smile on his face as he flips through a considerable number of pages filled with neat handwriting. 

“Thank God,” you laugh. “At least one of us understands him.” 

The conversation starts to flow between the two of you, and you’re surprised by how natural it feels. The poetry discussion lasts until food is served, and then it starts to wander. He tells you that he works in private security, and he shares several stories about his time on the job and his adopted brothers. He also asks about your studies, and you get a chance to tell him about the thesis you’re working on and the classes you’re taking at Gotham University. 

Neither of you seem to want the date to end, so you end up walking to the park. You do take a small detour when Jason finds out you haven’t read The Secret Garden, and he leads you to a small secondhand bookstore where the owner greets him by name. Jason buys you a copy of the book, and you end up curled together under a tree, dappled in warm afternoon sunshine. You can feel his voice vibrating in his chest as he reads the book out loud, and you lean back to rest your head under his jaw, smiling to yourself as you feel his voice stutter at your movement.

When the sun starts to set, Jason offers to walk you home and you accept, making the journey back to your apartment. It’s a bit of a journey, but the time passes quickly, and before you know it the two of you are standing in front of your dingy apartment door in the lower side of Gotham. For the first time in several hours, there’s silence between you two, as you both try to think of what to say. You notice that Jason’s eyes keep flickering down to your mouth, and you instinctively lick your lips. He groans softly and sways toward you, bringing a large hand up to gently cup your jaw. 

You’re caught in his orbit, and find yourself staring at the plush pink of his mouth. You step closer, and you’re near enough that you can feel the heat of his body against your skin and the movement of his breath against your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Please,” you breathe softly against his mouth. 

The word has scarcely left your lips before his seal over yours. It’s gentle at first, but it quickly gets more heated. His other hand comes up to the small of your back, pushing you against the firm muscle of his chest. He kisses you like he’s starving, devouring everything you offer. Eventually, you both break for air, and you lean your head back, breathing hard. You’re pleased to see that Jason seems equally winded, and something twists in your stomach when you see his eyes blown black and his kiss swollen lips. 

You can’t resist pulling him down for another kiss after you’ve caught your breath, and you can feel his smile under your lips. This one is slower than the first, but no less heated, as you kiss him deeply. He runs his tongue over the seam of your mouth and the groan rumbles in his chest as you open to him. 

You’re moments away from inviting him in and asking what he’ll do with that tongue behind closed doors when his phone begins to ring. He breaks the kiss and sighs, before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “That’s probably work. I have to go,” he says regretfully. 

You lean up and press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “That’s okay. We can continue this next time,” you say, smiling at him. 

“Definitely next time,” he says, before stepping out of your doorway. He answers his ringing phone with an apologetic wave at you as he starts to walk away, and you unlock your door with hands that only shake a little with the lingering emotions of that kiss.

You certainly hope there’s a next time.


End file.
